


Prick

by lizzehboo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzehboo/pseuds/lizzehboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So you hoofed it across town to my loft after blabbing about this for an hour on the phone, had me clear my plans, and now you're backing out,” Derek states blandly, the ice cube shrinking to minuscule size in his fingertips.</p><p>“You didn't have plans,” Stiles accuses in the brattiest way possible.</p><p>--</p><p>Stiles has a favor to ask of Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prick

“Nope. Nopenopenopenope!” Stiles scampers out of a chair, bolting across the room. “I changed my mind. No thanks. I'm good.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, standing with an ice cube in his hand. It's melting down his arm, little rivulets of water dripping off his elbow. “ _Stiles_ ,” he says, patience already running thin. “You were relentless on getting me to do this. Now sit your ass down.”

“I'm good over here, thanks.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

Stiles had made the decision rather quickly. His eighteenth birthday had passed and he wanted to do something crazy, something to commemorate getting through eighteen years of life – because, frankly, that was a feat when it came to living in Beacon Hills. At the same time, Stiles has... problems. Basically? He's a wuss about some things. And Derek just needs to understand that.

“So you hoofed it across town to my loft after blabbing about this for an hour on the phone, had me clear my plans, and now you're backing out,” Derek states blandly, the ice cube shrinking to minuscule size in his fingertips.

“You didn't have _plans_ ,” Stiles accuses in the brattiest way possible.

Derek grimaces, his eyebrow tweaking a little in annoyance. “Excuse me? I could have had plans.”

“You could have, but you didn't.”

“I am going to make sure this hurts you. I swear to god.”

“I don't want it. I'm going home.”

“Stiles, you told me that if you tried to back out that I needed to force you because, and I quote _you're a man now and you need to be treated like one, so don't baby me, Hale, give me all you got._ ” Derek crosses his arms, ice completely melted. “Which, let's be real, that sounds like a really bad pick-up line.”

“It was _not_ a pick-up line.”

“Seems like it could have been. You do want my _prick_ , don't you?” Derek has a ghost of a smirk on his face and his eyes are twinkling, daring Stiles to respond. Stiles stands completely still, like a rabbit about to be devoured.. Derek relents a little on the teasing, but still rolls his eyes a bit too dramatically. “It doesn't even hurt.”

“Says the guy that's been ripped in half probably a million times and counting. Your pain tolerance is way better than mine.”

“You've gotten your ass kicked plenty of times. I mean, I can't say I've witnessed it as often as I'd like but I'm pretty sure that mouth of yours has gotten you into plenty of trouble.”

“ _You_ have gotten me into plenty of trouble.”

“That's fair. Sit down.” Derek pats the chair for emphasis. “I've got to get another ice cube. It melted.”

“I noticed. It's hot as balls outside,” Stiles groans, but makes no move for the chair.

Derek sighs, heading back for the kitchen. Stiles can hear him from the other room. “Sit in the chair, Stiles.”

“I don't want to!” Stiles yells back, but starts for the chair.

“Be a man, Stiles,” Derek replies back. “And stop yelling. How often do I have to remind you I can hear you from three doors up? How does Scott still have eardrums at this rate?”

Stiles huffs, flopping into the chair. “I don't know why I asked you of all people to do this.”

“I don't know why you asked me either.” Derek returns with a plastic solo cup full of ice, shaking it. “I brought extra. Now do I have to tie you down?”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Do you _want_ to tie me down?” He grins.

Derek doesn't take the bait. “I _want_ to not have to chase you around my loft for a fucking _earring._ You know if it scares you this much you could go to one of those little girl boutiques and have them do it with a gun.”

Stiles glares. “I wanted to do this to help conquer my fear of needles, you ass.”

“You're doing a very good job,” Derek sasses right back.

Stiles wrinkles his nose, frustrated. “I'm sorry, okay? It's... it's tough.” He drums his fingers on his knees.

Derek softens a little. Only a little. “I don't get it. You can face down dead bodies and nearly die, but you can't handle one little, tiny needle?”

“I just don't like them, okay? Some people get squeamish around brains and guts; I get squeamish around small, sharp, pointy things.” Stiles glances away, his cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment.

They've been around each other for a couple of years. Stiles would like to say he's comfortable around Derek, but the secret in his head is hard to share even with those he's closest to. Partly because he thinks it's asinine and completely delusional to think the way he does, but he doesn't stop.

“You want to share?” Derek asks, giving Stiles a look, leaning against the table.

Stiles grimaces. “Not really.” But he does anyway. “My mom, y'know. She was in the hospital a lot. I saw lots of needles when I was little and I didn't like them and they didn't seem to help at all. Only hurt. So. Yeah. I don't like them. I didn't like them sticking out of my mom's arm and I don't like the idea of them going anywhere near my body. I know it's stupid.” He wishes it felt better to get off his chest, but it just sounds dumb to the night air.

“No it isn't,” Derek replies calmly, unfazed. Stiles heart jumps a little.

“It isn't?”

“No. It's a sort of... self-inflicted paranoia caused by a traumatic event in your childhood. Perfectly normal. Actually, I'm starting to think we all at least have one.”

“Someone's been reading Lydia's Psychology books.”

“ _Someone_ completed a semester of college,” Derek argues.

“Only one?”

“Give me a break, Stiles. I haven't really had time to get an education.” He grabs an ice cube from the cup and eyes Stiles. “Which ear?”

“Uhh... I don't know. Which one will make me look like a badass?”

“Neither.”

“Thank you for that. Marvelous for my self-esteem.”

“I live to serve.” Derek puts the cube to Stiles left earlobe. “Hold that there.”

“For how long?”

“Til it's numb.”

Stiles sighs and sits still as he can, tapping his toes and pressing the cube of ice to his ear. Derek pours rubbing alcohol on a slice of an apple, munching on the rest of it nonchalantly.

“You've done this before?” Stiles asks, suddenly a little scared.

“Laura did it for a few friends growing up. I also did it for this girl in a bar once, back in New York. I wasn't supposed to be in there, by the way.”

“So badass,” Stiles snarks, unimpressed. “I'm sure it must be _so hard_ to get into places with your full beard and scary murderer eyes.”

“I don't have scary murderer eyes,” Derek says, then pauses and corrects. “Not all the time anyway. Lobe?”

“Numbing.” Stiles watches the remnants of the ice cube sliding down his arm.

“Good.” Derek places the earring in the cap of the alcohol, pouring it over the little hoop and letting it sit. Then, he grabs the apple slice and presses it to the back of Stiles's ear. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Relax. If I wanted to hurt you, this wouldn't be my first choice on how to do it.”

Stiles swallows thickly, squeezing the arms of the chair. All he can see is his mother's withering body, littered with needles connected to bags of fucking poison and nopenopenope he doesn't want to do this.

“You really think it's not stupid?” he asks suddenly, his voice feeling a little too soft in his throat. “You know... why I'm absolutely fucking _petrified_ right now?”

Derek unseals the sterile needle and puts a knee on the chair between Stiles's legs, uncomfortably close and eyeballing his earlobe. Stiles's fingers twitch against the apple. He can smell Derek's soap and shampoo _and_ cologne. Talk about close quarters.

“It's not stupid, Stiles,” Derek replies, his voice gentle and a little husky as he focuses. Stiles closes his eyes. He's certain he's going to rip the arms off the chair. Or faint. Maybe he'll faint. That would be absolutely humiliating.

Derek puts a hand on Stiles's shoulder, holding him still. “Don't move. Just hold the apple.”

There's a whisper of Derek's breath on Stiles's skin. And then a small bolt of pain. Minutes pass. And then it's over. Derek slides the hoop into Stiles's ear and rears back, proud.

“That's... that's it?” Stiles asks.

“It's not exactly burning a tattoo on with a blowtorch or anything.” He slides the apple slice out of Stiles's fingertips and throws it in the trash, finally crawling out of his lap. Stiles just realizes that Derek really was basically in his lap.

“How does it look?” he asks, a little nervous. His legs feel a little shaky even in the chair. He doesn't really want to try standing yet.

Derek grabs a mirror off the table and spins it to Stiles's face. “See for yourself.”

“Woah, I look....” Stiles can't put a word on it. It's weird. It's different. The hoop isn't girly or anything. Derek picked it out. It's small and hugs the bottom of his earlobe, like a chain link. Stiles feels a smile stretching across his face as he takes it all in. He imagines the idea of stringing a chain from it to, he doesn't know, maybe his nose? That'd be pretty cool. “I look awesome.”

“You look awesome,” Derek echoes, amused. “See? Not that bad.” He starts cleaning up, holding the apple in his mouth as he carries his supplies back to the kitchen. Stiles hears him shuffling around, still sitting in the chair. “Can you even stand?” Derek's voice is muffled against the piece of fruit.

Stiles touches the earring quietly, ignoring Derek's question, still looking at it in the mirror. A permanent change to his reflection. He thinks that's pretty cool for an eighteenth birthday present, on a muggy, awful, hot day in August. Some might have chosen something bigger, but Stiles is proud. He's faced his fear. He's definitely not over it, but he's stared it in the face for once. Derek rounds the corner, still chewing, holding the core of the apple in his hand. He tosses it in the trash and stretches his arms above his head.

“Can you stand?” he asks again.

Stiles smiles a little and gets to his feet.

Then immediately sits back down. “Soon,” he says, blinking away the images of his mother in his head.

“You didn't even bleed,” Derek says, cocking his head to the side, humored. “You did pretty well.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, still a little embarrassed at his wobbly knees.

“Be sure to keep it clean.”

“I will.”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“I will! Jeez. You have so little faith in me!”

“I know how easily distracted you are.”

“Yeah, well you had your knee in my crotch and I still felt the needle go in my ear.”

“Come on. I'll take you home.” Derek offers his hand to Stiles and he takes it, getting to his feet, a little uncertain. “Why didn't you drive anyway?”

“It's hot. And technically for all the shit I did _on_ my birthday I wasn't supposed to leave the house, so I had to sneak out.”

“Young badass in training,” Derek muses, a hand on Stiles's back, keeping him steady-- though Stiles is starting to think the heat pulsing into him is making him a little more _un_ steady. “Next you'll be all inked up. You can get _werewolf_ tattooed on your knuckles. Maybe we can pierce your nipples.”

Stiles cringes so hard he nearly runs into the door. Derek actually laughs fully. “Relax, Stiles. I was kidding.”

“I am aware. Still. God. Why would anyone _do_ that?”

“They say it makes sex better.”

“Yeah well, having sex would be an improvement. I don't even need to worry about it getting better. Just existent.”

The slide into the freight elevator and Derek closes the gate. It slowly starts to move down.

“Maybe now that you've got a little cred,” Derek says, pointing to the piercing. “I'm sure some panties will drop. Or boxer-briefs. Whatever you prefer.”

Stiles doesn't care that Derek's making fun of him. “You think so?”

“It's cute,” Derek replies with ease. “Happy now?”

“Strangely yes.” Stiles shrugs. “Maybe because that's the closest thing to a compliment you've ever paid me.”

“Surely in the two or so years we've known each other I've said something nicer than that.”

“Between all the nearly dying and the fighting? Maybe it got lost.” The step out of the elevator in unison and make their way to Derek's car. “Also, getting rid of the Camaro was the worst decision of your life. Maybe you calling me a badass isn't a compliment at all, Soccer Mom.”

“It's not a minivan as you and Scott so eloquently love to put it. It's an SUV. And I didn't get _rid_ of the Camaro. I wrecked it. Fighting Alphas. Remember that? I do.”

Stiles climbs into the passenger seat. “Well, at least it's comfy. Turn on the air. It's fucking hot outside.”

“I noticed.” Derek cranks the car and pulls it out of the drive.

“Maybe when I turn twenty-one I can get a tattoo,” Stiles says quietly after a few minutes.

“Yeah?” Derek looks a little impressed.

“Or you know. Maybe when I'm like. Forty. Or when my grandkids turn twenty-one.”

“I knew you'd chicken out of that statement.”

“Hey, I made a big leap today.”

Derek smirks at the road, and then it shifts into an actual smile and Stiles catches himself staring. “You did. You did. And thank you for trusting me with your leap.”

“You're welcome,” Stiles says, a little shaken from the statement.

“Your heart was _pounding._ I thought you were going to shoot blood all over my face.”

“Well, I mean, you're such a calming presence n' all.”

Derek pulls over to the side of the street, a few houses down from Stiles. “Go sneak back in to your house. Your dad's gonna notice the piercing though. He better not be gunning down my door in the morning.”

“He'll live. I've gotten away with worse.”

They sit there in Derek's car for a long few minutes. And it's comfortable. And it's nice. Stiles feels like something is supposed to happen. He turns to mention it to Derek. Then chickens out. He closes his mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “You look like you want to say something. Mainly because you're still in my car even though it's stopped moving.”

“Uhhh... thank _you_ ,” Stiles says. “For the piercing. And for... uh...” Stiles casts his eyes to his lap. “Not thinking I'm stupid for being afraid of it.”

“No problem,” Derek replies, satisfied.

Stiles opens the door to bail.

“Like I said, we can do your nipples next.”

Stiles flinches the rest of the way out of the car, knocking the door shut with his elbow with a grimace. Derek laughs and speeds off.

Prick.

**Author's Note:**

> I might podfic this.


End file.
